


About the Boy

by allthegoodnamesaretakendammit



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon-Compliant, M/M, and one very belligerent owl, love potions, machinations, nor is it particularly relevant, probably one-sided, the year is not mentioned, unrequited love is my least favorite kind but oh well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 16:31:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12062832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthegoodnamesaretakendammit/pseuds/allthegoodnamesaretakendammit
Summary: A Saturday goes astray.





	About the Boy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [freakydeakymoonmagic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/freakydeakymoonmagic/gifts).



Severus spends his Saturday brewing Amortentia for Narcissa, who's going to pay him handsomely for both it and his silence on the matter. He can only imagine the extramarital affairs this will set into motion and the unwitting targets who have entered Narcissa's crosshairs--a woman who took Narcissa's favorite seat at Fortescue's or a member of her elite book club who's fallen from favor, perhaps.

The Amortentia is two minutes and thirty seconds from being cool enough to bottle, the spiraling steam long since abated, when something bangs into his office door. When he opens it and scowls down at the intruder, he finds a school owl with a bit of parchment tucked in its beak. Severus recognizes its plumage, though he's never bothered to learn its name. It's old and is missing a few feathers from its head and, if memory serves, it likes him even less than he likes it. As soon as he opens the door wide enough, the bird thrusts itself into his office and careens through the air, knocking a half-dozen bottles of pickled salamander tails off the shelf and colliding with the potion Severus has been laboring over for the better part of the day. Severus dives for it and sets the cauldron upright before it can spill its pearly contents everywhere, and the gold cauldron has cooled just enough not to leave blisters on his hands.

Then he turns a steely glare on the owl fluffing itself importantly in the corner, brandishing the letter in its beak. He jabs his wand at it and casts _Petrificus Totalus_ before it can bring the rest of the place down, watching its indignant expression get frozen just like that. Severus turns back to the cauldron and leans close to check for any stray feathers that may have drifted into the brew. He gets a lungful of it and--

Closes his eyes, carried away by that scent. Generic white soap, the spice of early sweat, and that certain boyish something. The faintest whiff of ink and parchment and golden brown toast. And then there's the undercurrent of good clean air, the kind you can only find in high places--on a mountain peak or, much more likely, on a broomstick.

If he could grasp it from the air and hold it, just hold it between his hands...

Severus returns to himself, bowed over the cauldron with his hands gripping the rim on either side. His face is mere inches from from the potion, and he is nearly able to see his own wavering reflection in its swirling, pearl-like surface. Light refracts within it, churning out countless hues, but it refuses to show Severus himself. So he straightens. He gets a noseful of fresh, non-Amortentia tainted air. He calls himself to order.

Then he rounds on the dratted owl, its eyes following him as he steps menacingly toward it. Severus snatches the letter from it, the sharp tip of its beak shearing down the center of the parchment with a _rip!_

"Today, I deign to name you." Severus tells it. "Featherbrain. Featherbrain the foul, the filthy, the wretched--" He seizes it by the neck, throws it out the door, and just before it hits the ground, he casts _Finite Incantem_ with a vicious flick of his wand.

The owl wheels up before it can crash on the stone floor and circles back to glare at him, cawing like a crow and flapping its wings loudly like an enraged hippogriff. Severus slams the door in its face and unfolds the letter in his hand. But really, it's two letters now. The first reads:

_I fear young Harry is prying again--_

_he’s courting trouble from all corners._

The second reads:

_with the best of intentions, I’m sure. And yet the fact remains:_

_Keep a close eye on him, won’t you, my dear boy?_


End file.
